


Only Fools Rush In

by brogendered (notmydivision12345)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 10:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5413220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmydivision12345/pseuds/brogendered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has a huge crush on Combeferre. Combeferre has a huge crush on Grantaire. Obviously they won't make it simple for themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Fools Rush In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LiProuvaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiProuvaire/gifts).



November 27th

Joly sat on his stomach and Grantaire let out a long, loud groan. “This is uncalled for.” He supposed it was what he got for spending so much time on the couch at his friends’ place.

“Your face is uncalled for,” he said, patting Grantaire right on the face. Like, seriously, he got mostly just the nose. “So, you’re coming to the Winter Solstice thing, right?”

“I’m just a lowly little fortune teller, friend. I can’t do any of the magical shit the rest of you do.”

Joly sighed and shook his head. “Just because your skill is limited doesn’t mean it isn’t powerful,” he said, as he had so many times before, “and you’re part of the coven, so it won’t be the same without you.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see his friends, or even that he was ashamed of having skill so small next to what the others could do, it was that ever since he had realized that he was extremely infatuated with Combeferre, acting like a normal person was hard as hell. Either he was overenthusiastic about getting his attention, or he couldn’t even speak directly to the guy. It was actually hard to overstate how queer he was about him, not that he had told anyone about it.

“Aw, you miss me? Don’t see enough of my beautiful face?” Grantaire asked, smirking. “Want me to move in?”

“As if you weren’t already basically living here,” Musichetta called from her office just down the hall.

Joly looked down at him. “We did miss you two days ago when you flaked on us for the full moon thing.” Then his face split into his characteristic grin. “Of course, we’d be willing to add you to our beautiful relationship, but everyone knows about the rule of threes, babe. We’re just too beautiful together to add you.”

Grantaire frowned. “But, baby, you know I’m great in bed. You know the “R” stands for _rapports sexuels_.”

“It stands for _ridicule_ and you know it.”

At that Grantaire wiggled, trying to unseat Joly. Even though he was a small guy, he sure could cling with the best of them. “I’m being harassed! Bullied! Nowhere is safe!”

Bossuet poked his head into the room with an exaggerated, comical frown. “Oh no, my poor little man. That Joly is a real scoundrel. Especially when he tries to get his friends to be happy.”

“Fine, you fuckers, I’ll go to the Winter Solstice thing. I’ll even go to the new moon thing before that. And I’ll go to Enjolras’s meetings, and attend all my classes, and get a job, and become a complete and whole person worthy of love, not a nihilistic, hopeless sack of sexual prowess. Easy.”

“Well you’re most of the way there,” Joly said, still smiling. “I’m sure Comb-“

Grantaire sat up suddenly, fast enough to actually dislodge Joly. “What, am I that obvious?” He hadn’t even talked about Combeferre yet!

Joly started laughing as his carefully picked himself up and found a more stable seat. “R, baby, when are you not obvious? Especially when you have a crush.”

Grantaire threw himself back down, groaning loudly. “Fuck my pansexual face. At God, why?”

Joly was snickering. “Listen, just because we have the same job and both do the same type of magic doesn’t mean Combeferre and I are interchangeable.”

Grantaire tossed one of the throw pillows at him.

 

December 1st

Combeferre woke up to a series of sticky notes carefully arranged across his room. “ASK HIM THE FUCK OUT,” they said, like that was a reasonable thing to try to communicate first thing in morning via sticky notes.

Courfeyrac was the obvious culprit, but it was definitely a post-coffee conversation about boundaries and probability. Fortunately, he had made cleaning spells that only required a simple activation phrase for just this eventuality. “ _Cubiculum, mundo teipsum_ ,” he muttered as he left his bedroom, the sticky notes already starting to flutter across the room into his trashcan.

Courfeyrac, having predicted probably every thought that had gone through his head so far that morning, was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee already full and waiting.

“Listen up, my boy. R has finally – finally! – moved on from Enjo, so there’s no better time to ask him out. Who knows how long it’ll take him to find a new boy to make eyes at? You’ve been talking about him for months, and I’m not going to enable you anymore. You keep this up and I’ll fuck him myself!”

Combeferre questioned why he was friends with even one single morning person. He tried to reply to something from the speech as he sipped his coffee. “You’ve already fucked him at least once, though. You’ve fucked all of your close friends at least once.”

Courfeyrac looked smug. “Sugarplum, not important. I’ll fuck him again.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes. “Seriously, what was the point of wasting that many sticky notes?”

“I just want you to happy. Why wouldn’t you ask him out? Preposition Grantaire for a great _recontre_ , how could he turn a babe like you down?”

Combeferre sighed and leaned back in his seat. “Because I get the feeling he’s been avoiding me recently, since he didn’t go to a couple of things he normally never misses. I know what you’re going to say, that it isn’t about me, but either way he’s definitely been acting strangely. He must picked up on my – my whatever, and this is his subtle way to let me down gently.”

Courfeyrac was about to start laughing. “That’s really how you think R would turn you down? And you really think he would pick up on your crush? Darling,” Courfeyrac patted his face, “remember when you liked me? I didn’t figure it out until you had moved on and told me explicitly. R is hardly that much more insightful than me.”

Combeferre grunted, unconvinced. “He can see the future, Courf. He’s probably just trying to avoid a future where I ask him out and make him uncomfortable.”

“Ohhh, my god. Sweet, innocent baby Jesus, save my ass. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for ‘ferre specifically because –“

“Okay,” Combeferre said, getting up from the table and taking his empty mug to the sink. “I get it. I’m a stone cold fox and the second I ask him out his pants will fly into the stratosphere.”

Courfeyrac smiled. “Aw, you remember my pep talks! Go get him, killer!”

“Sure, if by ‘him’ you mean ‘work,’ and by ‘get’ you mean ‘to,’ and by ‘killer’ you mean ‘gainfully employed man.’ Seriously, I’ll talk to him if he stops avoiding me. I don’t want to be one of those people who can’t take an obvious hint.”

Combeferre ignored Courfeyrac’s pout, but couldn’t avoid hearing, “Maybe you’re just too beautiful and he’s shy!”

Combeferre snorted as he got dressed. As if Grantaire would be interested in him.

 

December 5th

“Hey, do you happen to have time to grab a cup of coffee now?” Combeferre asked. He immediately wanted to smack himself in the face, because how forward did he have to be? They hadn’t had a real conversation in weeks

Grantaire was smiling, though, and widely enough to show the teeth behind his soft, luscious lips. “Sure, yeah, I have, like,” he took his phone out of his jacket pocket and checked it, “fifteen minutes. I always have time for you.”

“You flatter me,” Combeferre said, trying not to look ecstatic, because then he would probably scare Grantaire off. Also, it wasn’t a date, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

Grantaire winked as he walked past towards the café they both had been heading for. “I had better be.”

Combeferre might have checked him out a little before he hurried to catch up. “So have you been really busy lately, or,” he trailed off as he held the door open for him.

“Oh man, should’ve known that question was coming,” Grantaire said. “Yeah, I’ve just been doing a lot of work lately, picking up extra shifts. I’m trying out doing fortune telling online, now, too, so we’ll see how that works out.”

As they paused the conversation to order, Combeferre realized what it was about the comment that had confused him.

“Couldn’t you just, uh, check?” Combeferre asked. Grantaire looked confused as they moved to the waiting area. “I mean, check the future to see how things turn out?”

Grantaire shook his head. “Nah man. You know how if I try to predict too far into the future, my predictions stop being so accurate? Well, the same thing happens when I try to see my own future. Like, sure, it might be right, but I’ll psych myself out too much try to figure out whether or not it was accurate. So I’ve stopped looking for myself, you know?”

“I get it. Everyone’s skill has limits; I just didn’t know that that was one of yours.” As they got their coffee and a table, Combeferre processed: Grantaire couldn’t know about his crush in a magical way, then, since it was too hard to imagine him turning to anyone else to find out about a crush. “Okay, so is that what you’ve been up to? Launching a new online business?”

Grantaire licked his lips. “Well, that’s the biggest thing. What’ve you been doing?”

“Oh, you know, teaching. Writing under pseudonyms for Enjolras, trying to help others organize. The usual.”

Grantaire laughed, throwing his head back, showing off his neck, which was relatively hairless after so little time on testosterone. Combeferre tore his eyes away. Christ, he had to get a hold of himself. “So how does the biology classroom run these days?”

“Well, about as well as usual. No one’s cried during a dissection yet, but we’re only on sea animals so there’s plenty of time left.”

“What? Heartless bastards, I wept many a salty tear –“ Grantaire’s phone alarm went off and he abruptly jumped back. “Fu– I mean, excuse me, I really do have a shift that I have to get to. Past me was really onto something when he set that alarm.”

“I believe it,” Combeferre said, trying not to feel disappointed that Grantaire had to leave so soon.

Grantaire turned around and walked out of the café backwards. “I’ll be around, though, you can count on it,” he shouted, like everyone else wasn’t staring at him. Combeferre couldn’t help watching him leave even after he stopped giving his performance.

 

December 11th

“R! You made it!” Jehan was all smiles, and Grantaire tried to ignore his guilt.

“Of course,” he lied, like it hadn’t been a team effort from Joly and Bossuet to get him off the couch when the time came to leave. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Éponine raised an eyebrow. “You would miss it for money though. Remember, like, two weeks ago? The whole moon thing you skipped?”

“I’m a changed man,” he declared, pulling out a few baguettes from the bag Joly was carrying. “And I even bought bread for us to break together, so you can’t even tell me I’m mooching again.”

“Selfless,” Éponine muttered.

“Hush, my tiny baby mouse,” Jehan said, still giving Joly a run for his money in terms of widest smile of all time. “You’re even early! Cosette’ll be here in another few minutes and Feuilly and ‘ferre are coming together whenever they’re finished with ABC duties.”

“So that’ll be never?” Grantaire asked, innocently. Joly immediately jabbed him in the ribs and pushed him into Jehan’s living room completely.

Even though Grantaire knew what it looked like – it looked the same for almost every ceremony, and he saw it in its casual state at least weekly – Jehan’s living room on ceremony nights was always stunning. Potted plants lined the edges of the room, some spots at least five pots wide, and some even hung from the ceiling. The normal electric lights were off and the space was lit by the witch-lights Jehan conjured so easily; a soft, gently flickering light that made even Grantaire feel comfortable. The furniture had been removed and soft pillows for their sitting pleasure were scattered around a central clear space, where they would set up the candles and other essentials for the ceremony Jehan would always insist on.

As Grantaire sat down, Joly and Jehan started up a conversation in Korean, which of course he couldn’t understand, so he turned to Éponine. “What’s up, Ép?”

She looked up from filing her nails. “The show is doing well. Gav keeps sneaking in the theater after hours to make trouble, of course. But –“

Cosette burst through the door without knocking, Combeferre (who was looking as fashionable as ever, and was that lipstick he was wearing?) and Feuilly on her heels. “Look who followed me home,” she said, sitting down on Grantaire’s other side and pulling out two bottles of rosé wine. “Can I keep them?”

Combeferre chose the seat next to Cosette, which was unfortunate, because that meant Grantaire would have had turn his head pretty much all the way over to stare at him even a little, and that would be too creepy, even for him. Grantaire had no choice but to actually pay attention to what was happening. Sad.

“Well,” Jehan said, stroking their chin like they had a goatee. “I don’t know. Will you be the one to take care of them? They need regular walking –“

“We can take ourselves on walks, thanks,” Feuilly said. “Good to see everyone – and it really is everyone – but I’m tired and I just want to go home, get into bed, and get some sleep.”

“Are you sure that’s what you’ll be getting in bed?” Éponine asked. “Are you sure it won’t be Bahorel’s dick?”

“OH SHIT!” Grantaire yelled, and leaned over Cosette to try to get a high five from Combeferre. He realized that it was probably exactly this type of behavior that made his crushes so obvious.

Still, Combeferre didn’t leave him hanging, so it was a win in Grantaire’s book. His hands were soft enough to make up for any shame.

Jehan and Feuilly sat down, completing the circle. “Let’s get this started,” Jehan said, pulling out the first of the candles.

 

Grantaire had flopped down over a bunch of the pillows when the clean up process was finished, and Combeferre was debating how exactly to approach him. After all, he wanted to ask a question too delicate to just shout out. Also, he was pretty close to just chickening out.

For good or for ill, Joly decided for him by nudging him and, as he pulled on a sweater, saying, “Don’t worry, ‘ferre, he only bites as much as you want him to.”

Combeferre was grateful that the combination of the lighting and his skin tone made any blush impossible to see, especially when Grantaire groaned.

“Joly, I’m breaking up with you,” Grantaire said, propping himself up, reaching for the mostly-empty bottle of wine that was still on the floor and taking a sip. “No, seriously, we’re over. Get out of here so I can start in on Jehan’s ice cream.”

Joly, by then fully layered in his thick winter clothing, pretended to wipe away a tear. “I’m heartbroken, and will have to turn to Bossuet and Musichetta for comfort. See you both around!”

“Fuck you,” Grantaire grumbled before letting himself fall back onto the pillows.

Which, yeah, no, Grantaire laying back, neck exposed, eyes half lidded, mouth gently parted and red already – “Hey, R, would you do me? I mean tell my fortune?”

Grantaire sat back up slowly, which really must have taken a surprising amount of muscle control. “Of course. Now? Is something going on?”

“No, I, uh,” Combeferre rubbed his jaw, looking for his words. “I just, it’s a romance thing? So if it could be private, that would be great.”

That must have been entirely the wrong thing to say, because Grantaire’s brow furrowed and he took a much bigger swig of wine, nearly finishing the bottle. “Yeah, of course. Come by my apartment tomorrow morning sometime after ten. I do have a shift starting at three, so keep that in mind, and text ahead. See you then!” he said, even though Combeferre didn’t think he had indicated he wanted to leave yet. If fact, he had wanted to stay, to hang out more, but that was clearly a bad idea.

“Yeah, I’ll come at eleven. Have a good night.”

“You bet.”

 

December 12th

Grantaire was awake by nine thirty, which was decidedly not the normal course of events. Sure, maybe he spent the next hour staring at the ceiling, sulking, but waking up that early had to count for something. He debated even showering when he realized that he did in fact only have half an hour to get ready, but that would be way too gross.

Besides, if he could rub one out in the shower maybe he had a chance of not being a freak towards Combeferre when he came over and flaunted all the gorgeous face and body things he had going on. And he had so much going on.

As soon as he opened the door, Grantaire knew it wouldn’t work. Combeferre was wearing a scarf that showed off just how strong his jawline was. “Hey, dude,” Grantaire said, stepping back to welcome Combeferre into his apartment. “Ready to go?”

Combeferre cleared his throat. “Yes, well,” he walked over Grantaire’s loveseat and sat down, “let’s just get right down to it.”

Grantaire followed his lead and sat down on the chair opposite. “So what do you want out of this? You said, uh, it’s about a relationship. Something new, something you’re looking to pursue?” He tried to sound as normal as he could, but seriously, the whole exercise felt like it had been designed to be as painful as possible.

“Trying to see if it’s a good idea to pursue, actually.” Combeferre didn’t make eye contact as he started to shed some of his layers.

Before he could overthink it, Grantaire said, “Of course, man, who wouldn’t want you? As long as they like men and aren’t looking for someone stupider than them, you’re the best catch in Paris.” Maybe Combeferre would just interpret that something said out of friendship. At least he had stopped himself from going on a rant.

When Combeferre just chewed on his lower lip and didn’t reply, Grantaire sighed and asked, “So, ‘ferre, you want me to flip a coin and give you a yes or no? Or do you want me to give you the pros and cons or what? Also, is it, you know, one person or more than one?”

“One person. And I’d appreciate it if we could do something that would give me an idea of whether it would be good for y- for them as well?” Combeferre was finally looking at him. “I thought I might ask you to do a spread?”

Grantaire wanted to curse himself for being such a stereotype as he pulled his tarot cards out from under the coffee table – of course the fortuneteller would have his deck nearby. “Of course. I have just the spread. Shuffle?” He tossed the deck over and Combeferre caught it no problem.

He must have seen it done enough times, because he knew better than to shuffle them like playing cards. Once he was done, he looked up. “How should I lay them out?”

“Uh, okay, first one here . . .” Grantaire tapped each place the cards should go until there were seven cards laid out on the table in a hexagon, one in the middle.

“Okay this one first,” Grantaire tapped the one closest to him. He had to scoot his chair closer for easier access. “So I don’t know if you’ve ever done this with anyone else with any actual magic, but you’re going to tell me your first impression, then I’ll use that to help interpret the results. The way you vibe with the deck, and the way the deck vibes with you, matters. Also, I won’t tell you what I think until the end. Sounds good?”

“Fine by me,” Combeferre said. He filled the first card. It was The World; Grantaire’s deck showed a beautiful androgynous person stepping through a leafy wreath tied with red fabric. “Looks, uh, looks like a good sign? I’m not sure what you want me to say for first impressions.”

Grantaire waved a hand. “Really, good, bad or neutral should be enough, but let me know if you feel anything, like fear or joy, especially if it doesn’t seem to fit with the cards iconography.”

“Okay, sure. So, what’s the next one?” Grantaire indicated the one that was in the center of the hexagon. Ten of cups. “Yeah, I don’t know, I can tell this is a good card; it’s beautiful and everything. I don’t know if I get anything I characterize as a ‘vibe,’ though.”

“Perfect, that means my deck works well enough I probably won’t have to adjust the reading at all. It makes sense, because we’re friends and I painted it so of course –“

Combeferre looked up from under his eyelashes, which, okay, was a super good look for him. “You painted these yourself?” He ran his index finger down the edge of the card he had just flipped. “You’re so talented.”

Grantaire willed his voice to not go up an octave. “Thanks, yeah, you know they work better if you make them yourself.”

“No, actually, that’s fascinating.” Combeferre was looking up fully now, which was a relief and a disappointment. “I really should ask you more about your skill, since you have such a grasp on the rules I didn’t even know existed until now. But first, the spread, right? I’ll ask you . . . after.”

“Yeah, sure, after.” Like Combeferre wouldn’t immediately go out and get the person, if the spread continued as good as it had started. “The next one is your top left.”

Eight of swords.

“Then right across from that one.”

Two of cups.

“The one under the third one.” Would it be wrong to start praying for some bad cards? Probably. Grantaire did want his friend to be happy.

Nine of wands.

“Okay, yeah, right across again.”

Four of cups.

“And, of course, the last one.”

The Lovers, of course. Grantaire could have predicted that one, magic or no magic, after a spread like the one he had just seen. The obstacles weren’t even particularly hard to deal with.

Combeferre continued to hover over the cards, looking up through his eyelashes again. “So what does this say about my, uh, my chances?”

Grantaire scanned the cards again. “Basically, what I can tell you has to do with what’ll happen if you make some sort of choice. This spread indicates that you should just take a chance and go for it. Assuming your person can come to terms with your affection, you can be very happy together.” Trying not to sound extremely depressed, he added, “It looks like all that’s keeping the two of you apart is someone making the first move.”

“Oh,” Combeferre breathed, looking back down at the cards and running his fingers across The Lovers. “And he’ll be happy with me? He’d want me to ask him out?”

And there was the pronoun. Maybe it would have been less of a soul crusher if it wasn’t another dude, but probably not. “As far as I can see, you two are compatible as hell.”

Instead of leaping away to find what was apparently his fucking one true love, Combeferre gently reached out and took one of Grantaire’s hands. He was way too weak to pull his hand back, of course. “Do you want to know who it is?”

No, he did not. “I guess I’ll find out, right?”

“R, it’s you. I like you; I want to be romantically involved with you. If you’re okay with it of course.” Combeferre looked genuinely hopeful, eyes wide and lips slightly parted.

“What?”

Combeferre licked his lips. “The spread, it was about you, and –“

Grantaire recovered enough to pull his hand away. “Is this a joke? Are you fucking with me? Also, I told you I could be wrong with predictions that were about me, so this is obviously fake as hell, where’s the camera? This is a sick joke. I’d ask who put you up to it but I don’t think I want to know.”

“No, wait,” Combeferre said, taking advantage of his pause for breath. “Listen, hear me out. I know you’re not always accurate when it comes to yourself, but it was worth the risk. I don’t trust myself to find someone else who genuinely has the magic, and besides, you’re the best. This isn’t a joke, and I do want this. Of course, I understand if you don’t.”

Grantaire was suddenly aware of the speed of his heart. “I need to think about this.”

“Of course,” Combeferre said, finally sitting back. He was chewing on his lower lip, which was distracting. Grantaire needed to actually think about the situation at hand, because normally he just assumed he had no chance with anyone he crushed on. He had never even fantasized about something like this, although there had been a whole lot a fantasizing going on.

He got up abruptly and went to make coffee. “Do you want anything to drink?” he asked.

“I’m good for now, thanks.”

The silence was awkward but he didn’t have anything to say yet. _I really like you but I’m not sure you’d like me if we got into a relationship?_ _You’re way too good for me? I’m not sure what I would do if we dated and broke up, even if we hadn’t gotten serious yet? What if you don’t want to get serious at all?_ Everything he thought of saying was too insecure, too afraid. Even though he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with the offer, he still didn’t want to make Combeferre think he wasn’t desirable.

The coffee was finally ready, and Grantaire didn’t have any reasons to be loitering in the kitchen, out of Combeferre’s sight. He reluctantly went into the living room. “Listen, can I sleep on this? I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

Combeferre was keeping his face as blank as possible, but Grantaire could tell by the tightness around his lip that it took effort. “Of course, R. Take as much time as you need.” He wasted no time getting his layers back on. It was probably as awkward for him as it was for Grantaire.

“Thanks, ‘ferre,” Grantaire said, once his door had closed behind Combeferre and there was no chance of him hearing.

He needed to call up some advice.

 

December 13th

“Dude, relax, he’ll call you when he calls!” Courfeyrac grabbed the phone from where Combeferre had left in on the table. “It being in your pocket – oh shit, he’s calling you, I’m going to my room so I don’t have to hear all the phone sex.”

Combeferre grabbed the phone back and flipped him off as he answered. “Uh, hey, R, what’s up?” Why did he have to sound so nervous?

It was hard to read the tone of Grantaire’s voice through the phone. “I think you should come over,” he said.

“Okay,” Combeferre said. What did that mean? “Should I come now, or later?”

“Now’s good.”

Combeferre paused. “Uh, okay, I’ll be over in, well, soon.” It was a short walk, but he needed to budget time for his obligatory freak out.

“Good,” Grantaire said. “Uh, bye. For now, I guess.” He hung up.

“Shit,” Combeferre said.

“I can hear you overanalyzing from here,” Courfeyrac yelled from wherever he was. “Shouldn’t you be heading over somewhere to get laid?”

Combeferre groaned. “I don’t know! Maybe he wants to reject me in person? Or talk it out. Maybe he doesn’t even know yet.”

“That’s the fakest thing I’ve heard all day.” Courfeyrac popped his head in the room and checked him out. “You look like a slice of prime ass. Go get your boy!”

“You give the worst advice,” Combeferre said, even though he knew that would be basically what he would have said to anyone in the same situation.

“Get up, you loser.”

“Fine, fine, fine.” Combeferre got up and left, accepting the ass slap that Courfeyrac announced was for luck. The walk wasn't long, but it was cold, and he was unbelievably nervous. When had he last been this nervous? When he was trying out a dangerous spell for the first time? When Enjolras had been in the hospital? It was stupid to be this nervous about something that was not actually life or death. Also, vomiting in fear was never attractive.

When he reached the apartment, he texted Grantaire and bounced on the balls of his feet – it was cold enough to get away with it. Never mind that he could have cast a spell.

“Hey, come on in,” Grantaire said, smiling but not quite making eye contact.

Combeferre was trying not to overanalyze, but all he could distract himself with was Grantaire’s décor, which was pretty bland. Well, there was also Grantaire’s lips, or eyes, or his general everything.

“So,” Grantaire started, still standing. “Um, the thing I want you to understand is that I’m not – I don’t want to mess up, here. ”

Combeferre’s heart was sinking. “I –“

Grantaire looked up. “No, wait, let me finish. I do feel romantically towards you, I’m just not – I don’t want to ruin our friendship, and, uh, I want to make that clear before anything else. But, yeah, that said, I am kind of really into you and it would be, quote, stupid to turn you down.”

Combeferre took a moment to process. It was his turn to look away. Not a rejection, no, but Grantaire was hardly enthused about the whole thing. “Are you, no, do you actually want this? I’d take you to dinner tonight, or whenever, but I don’t want you to feel pressured, because of our friendship, or our group being so insular, or –“

Grantaire stepped into his space and put his hand on Combeferre’s chest. He tried not to think too hard about how embarrassing his heartbeat might be. Grantaire was looking up at him, which was . . . it was hard to put together the words. “Trust me, that’s not why I had reservations.”

Combeferre swallowed. “Okay, so we’re going to, uh, try?”

Grantaire had definitely switched into full seduction mode, looking up through his eyelashes, which Combeferre had seen in action but had never had directed at him. “I’ll try anything once. You mentioned something about dinner tonight?”

“I, uh, I did,” Combeferre said. “Can I kiss you first, though?”

Grantaire leaned up and kissed him gently. Combeferre buried one of his hands in Grantaire’s hair and pulled him closer almost unconsciously; Grantaire wrapped an arm around his waist and deepened the kiss, sliding his other hand up into Combeferre’s hair. Combeferre lost track of time.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this floats your boat! (I am so bad at coming up with puns, though, sorry about the absence ! ! )


End file.
